


sing me a carol (serenade me)

by justanothermess



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Cinderella Elements, Guitars, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermess/pseuds/justanothermess
Summary: Jisung had a plan. He had a plan that he aimed to carry out from A to Z without missing a step. What he had not factored in was Kim Seungmin, the prince.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Kim Seungmin
Kudos: 35
Collections: STAY CAROLS 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing Stray Kids and in an AU. I hope I did it justice. I feel like it's kind of rushed but I didn't plan on it being long anyways.
> 
> The prompt was: cinderella inspired but it's christmas setting & you can make the royal prince hold a christmas ball and then someone performs
> 
> I hope I did it justice and enjoy!

“Seungmin, dear,” his mother called and he strided over to her, the picture of elegance.

Kim Seungmin, officially known as District Nine’s only prince (and unofficially the winner of Korea’s Hottest Faces of the Year for three years running), looked stunning clad in a royal navy suit, a crown covered in gold tinsel adorning his head, and the dazzling smile known to make both men and women swoon. His eyes had been brushed over with gold eyeshadow, glitter and eyeliner upon Minho’s insistence that it would make everyone swoon, his puppy eyes already deadly as they were. Personally, Seungmin didn’t believe it but he had learnt, in his ten years with Minho by his side, he was right more often than not. It didn’t help that his guard, Felix, was completely whipped and agreed to whatever Minho said.

“Good evening,” he greeted, bowing slightly, “Prince Seungmin of District Nine. And you are?” He gestured towards the two royals standing next to his mother.

“Prince Chan and this is my cousin, Prince Jeongin.”

Seungmin smiled politely, “Nice to meet you. I hope you’re enjoying the ball.”

The younger of the two, Jeongin, beamed, speaking up excitedly, “It’s amazing! The decorations are so beautiful.” And they were.

The ballroom was magnificent. Chandeliers hung from the ceilings, silver tinsel adorning the delicate patterns of crystals that glittered in the bright light. The same silver was fastened to the doors and window sills. Artificial snow was dusted onto the ornaments that hung around the room, bright colours contrasting the softer tones.

Of course, the Christmas tree was what left most of the attendees in awe, standing tall in the centre, decked in lights and tinsels and baubles, each intricately shaped and decorated. Some of them Seungmin recognised from the orphanage at the end of the road. He remembered visiting the children, their eyes lighting up in joy as they rushed towards him. Their hands were coated in paint and glitter and glue but the eagerness as they presented their newly decorated ornaments to him was something Seungmin knew he couldn’t forget. He always paid strict attention to each child as they explained the process of decorating their bauble, handling the item with gentle hands as he tried to memorise what each one looked like. No matter how busy he was, Seungmin was certain he would frequent the orphanage as often as possible; Christmas Eve was one of those days he specifically reserved for it.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass that on to the servants.”

“I’ll leave you to talk while I try and find the king.” His mother excused herself and Seungmin watched as she disappeared into the crowd. He turned back around to meet the other two princes, smiling amicably.

“I heard from the other towns that District Nine has a lot of musical talent. Will we be getting a show later on?”

Seungmin pointed towards the makeshift stage. It wasn’t much when compared to the grandeur of the rest of the ballroom but it still stood out, the raised platform that usually carried the royal family’s thrones having been cleared out to leave an empty space for the performers. It didn’t look dissimilar to the rest of the room, tinsel and fake snow placed artfully across the area. While people were still arriving, the DJ had been playing music through the speakers. That music was now fading out, servants scuttling onto the stage to set it up.

“Perfect timing.”

“He’s stunning.” Jeongin whispered, not daring to raise his voice higher and risk disrupting the silence in the crowd, every eye fixed on the singer. Seungmin hummed softly in agreement, eyes wide as he watched the singer, eyes closed as he strummed his guitar. His voice was ringing out through the ball room. He was mesmerised.

“I have to meet him.”

It had been over an hour since the singer began and the crowd had slowly dispersed, back to mingling and talking. It hadn’t seemed to bother the singer, who continued to perform. Seungmin had listened to each song, watched each performance and now, he saw the servants shuffling back onto the stage, clearing the area as the last song faded out. It wasn’t long before a different song began playing on the speakers but Seungmin wasn’t interested.

What he was interested in, was the singer walking timidly across the room, a glass in his hand. He was wearing a black suit, silver lining and a series of chains adding to the aura of elegance . His black hair was styled to frame his face, a few strands escaping the hairspray to rest on his otherwise exposed forehead. The rest was tucked behind his ears, pushed down slightly by the elastic from the mask. It was a masked ball, after all. Even the singer’s attire wasn’t complete without it - black fabric in a rigid shape with lace covering the edges. Silver jewels were glued along the upper half, fading from top to bottom. Seungmin couldn’t resist.

“May I have this dance?”

『••✎••』

If Jisung was being honest with himself, he had absolutely no fucking idea how he got here. At all. One minute he was on the streets, humming to himself as he wrote lyrics to the latest tune stuck in his head. The next, he had an invitation in his hand, lined with gold paper and “cordially inviting Han Jisung to perform in the upcoming Royal Ball held at District Nine’s Palace.”

What. The. Fuck.

“W-what do you mean?” He asked, voice shaking and hands trembling as he gripped the invitation.

The man, Hyunjin, smiled softly, “I know it’s a shock but I’ve been watching you for a while now and, as I was put in charge of entertainment for the Royal Ball, I could think of no one better.”

JIsung gulped, “N-not that I don’t appreciate it or anything, but why would you choose me when you could choose one of the more popular singers?”

“Because none of the singers have what you have.” He said it so matter of factly, as if it was the only logical conclusion but Jisung didn’t understand. Seeing this, Hyunjin elaborates, “I’ve seen so many singers and musicians over the past couple of weeks but no one else performs as passionately as you do. You dedicate yourself to your music, get lost in it entirely.” He places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, “And, considering District Nine is so well known for its music, that passion and talent is exactly what we need.”

“I-In that case,” Jisung took in a sharp breath, “I’d be honoured.”   
  


A smile bloomed on Hyunjin’s face, “That’s great to hear. All the information is on the invitation. You’ll need to arrive a little earlier than the rest of the guests to set everything up with the DJ and you will get breaks in between where you can relax or dance or eat, whatever you want.”

Jisung nodded enthusiastically, “I won’t let you down!”

“I’m sure you won’t.” With that, Hyunjin gave his parting words and left, striding back towards the direction of the palace. Jisung could already see him scribbling on the clipboard he held in his hand.

That wasn’t important. Right now, he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he read and then re-read the information on the invitation. Then, he got to work.

A finger on the first fret, another on the second, ring finger on the third; he took a deep breath and strummed once, twice and began counting. His hands had long since passed sore and were one step away from bleeding. He ignored it, focusing on the beats. The chorus passed smoothly and he switched chords for the second verse. One, two, three, he strummed, humming along.

The song ended - a successful run-through. But what if it was a fluke? He stretched his fingers, hissing as they cramped, before placing the guitar in his lap again, positioning his fingers on the C chord and strumming. He used to have a pick, but had lost it a few days ago - he didn’t dare spend any money on another one. It would just be another expense on his list and he couldn’t risk it, not after cutting it so close last time. He shuddered to think what would happen if he had to go another two weeks on an empty stomach.

Maybe it was worth it, though. He would need one if he was going to be performing in front of royals. It would be embarrassing if they couldn’t hear the music just because he didn’t have a pick. He glanced at the invitation once more, the paper with gold lining and gold words. At the bottom, a number with more zeros than Jisung could process. It seemed unreal.

Another run-through of the melody and he stopped humming. It was always like this when he was writing a new song. The same process of writing, singing, strumming, changing and repeating, over and over till he could run through it in his sleep with ease. After all, with how small an artist he was, he couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

What he could afford, right now, was a pick. He stood up, brushing off the dirt that clung to his trousers and started making his way to the music shop, a beaming smile on his face as he continued to repeat the melody in his head, picturing the guitar as he did so.


	2. Chapter 2

Jisung had a plan. He had a plan that he aimed to carry out from A to Z without missing a step. He’d always been good at doing that, even from a young age. Then, when the rest of his life fell apart, making plans held him together, kept him from breaking because he always had something to focus on, something to fall back on. He had learned to trust no one but himself and his plans.

What he had not factored in was Kim Seungmin, the prince. The prince, who was a wild card that Jisung couldn’t predict at all. And that made him nervous, jittery. It poked and prodded at the ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, almost teasing, conflicting because, despite the anxiety, Jisung also felt excitement; the kind of excitement he hadn’t felt since he was twelve and his Appa was still here. It was impulsive, childish, dangerous and, oh, so tempting.

He was almost tempted to take it, and was on his way to gripping onto the mask resting on his face, hiding his identity. He was adamantly ignoring all the signs screaming at him to stop, warning him that Prince Seungmin was not part of the plan at all. He could see Prince Seungmin hold his breath, doe eyes zeroing in on Jisung’s every movement, at the way Jisung, or Han, lifted his hands from the guitar that was now leaning against the wall, the pic in his hand secured safely between two fingers as he reached up and up. Jisung hoped his hands weren’t shaking enough to be noticeable.

He had the firm plastic in his right hand, left reaching towards the back of his head and fumbling awkwardly for several seconds as he gripped the elastic, silently cursing his hair for being so long. He was lifting the mask slowly, making sure not to yank his hair out and, all the while, his eyes were fixed on Prince Seungmin’s, who’s anticipating gaze was staring right back.

A chime sounded, coming from the large clock tower in front of the castle.

It was loud, ringing through the ballroom, drowning out the music the servants were playing through the speakers while Jisung was resting.

It was loud and deafening and chimed once, twice, three times and then twelve and-

“Midnight?”

“Quite romantic, is it not?”

The elastic snapped back and Jisung could feel the headache coming from the force but he didn’t care. What he did care about was the fact that it was midnight and he had yet to finish sewing the dresses Seulgi, his step-sister, had ordered him finish repairing before he slept. His step-mother was supposed to be home in an hour, most likely.

“I-I have to go.” He frantically scanned the area, exhaling slowly once he caught sight of his step-mother, the bright red of his step-sister’s dress, the green suit Jaesung was wearing. They both seemed immersed in the dance, eyes firmly on whichever man was unlucky, or stupid, enough to get dragged to the dance floor. He bowed to the prince, hands clenching into fists by his sides as he speed-walked to the door. He didn’t allow himself to look back at the prince, knowing his resolve would weaken if he even caught a glimpse of the man. His heart was already twisting painfully at the desperate tone in Prince Seungmin’s voice calling out to him.

Jisung stuck to his plans for a reason. They provided structure, security, comfort where there was none to be taken from the situation and, most importantly, made sure he didn’t forget anything.

And yet, for the first time in the sixteen years since he had first picked up an instrument, he had forgotten his guitar and, in the haze of panic, he hadn’t even thought of the absence.

『••✎••』

As soon as the Christmas Ball ended, Seungmin turned around and let out a relieved sigh. Despite the years of training, speaking to a crowd, speaking to his  _ subjects _ still made him nervous. He would be in charge of those people - in charge of all the matters concerning District Nine and he was not ready. Despite having had this conversation with his father already (“Son, you’re never going to be ready. I had no idea what I was doing at your age. You’re going to be a great king, just you wait.”), Seungmin had doubts about what the competition would lead to.

“Your highness?”

Seungmin was pulled out of his thoughts by his guard, who was gesturing towards the door leading to his private quarters. Once again, he thanked Minho for being more put together than he was. Seungmin was sure, if Minho wasn’t there, he would have fallen apart or made a mistake much,  _ much _ sooner.

(“Are you sure you and I shouldn’t switch places?” Seungmin had joked one evening, after having Minho walk him through the day’s events once more. Of course Minho was able to recount them flawlessly while Seungmin struggled to even remember what he had had that morning. At Minho’s shocked look, he groaned, “Guess that’s a no then.”)

After gesturing to Minho, he began to make his way to his private chambers, shrugging off his blazer and letting out a relieved sigh upon doing so. As much as he knew he had to keep up appearances as the heir to the throne, he had always had a strong dislike for form-fitting clothes; twelve-year-old Seungmin had thrown many fits once he realised he would be expected to wear exactly those in public. As unfortunate as it was, it came with the job, so he held his breath and bore it till he could take it off.

“Your highness?” Minho’s hand came to rest on the prince’s shoulder, “You seem stressed.”

“Me? Stressed?” Seungmin fumbled, walking faster, “Noooo.”

Minho looked sceptical, “I’ve called you by your title twice now. You hate it when I don’t call you by your name,  _ your highness _ .”

Oops.

“Okay so maybe I’m just a teensy, tiny,  _ little _ bit stressed about Appa’s reaction. And worried. And doubtful. Just a little.” He pushed the door, entering the room and face-planting into the bed. Silently, Minho followed, taking the blazer and putting it back in the closet.

“It’s just... am I doing the right thing, Minho? It’s the first time I’ve done something this impulsive. What if I’ve messed up really badly? I’m a  _ prince _ . I can’t afford to make mistakes.  _ Ugh _ . That was so stupid. What if-” Giving up on the bed, he started pacing the length of the room, building up more and more scenarios until-

“Yah, Seungmin-ah! Stop worrying so much.” Minho came up behind him and, even from this angle, Seungmin could tell he was being given The Stare - something Minho had picked up and perfected from his mother years ago, and something Seungmin had a deep hatred for.

He swung around to face Minho and- Oh. He didn’t realise he had been stressing enough for Minho to be giving him The Stare  _ with his arms folded _ .

“Okay, so maaaaybe I was overreacting just a little bit,” At Minho’s (softer) glare, he amended it, “Fine, a lot.”

Minho huffed, “You’ll be fine. You’ve been a model prince all these years, listening to all the advice, trying your best to meet the demands of the district. You couldn’t have been better if you tried. You deserve to be impulsive for once.”

“You’re right.” Seungmin smiled, grateful before looking over mischievously.

“Don’t you dare!” But Minho’s resistance was futile as he had already been tackled into a hug and the two fell on to the bed, cuddling turning into a pillow fight not more than a minute later.


	3. Chapter 3

He was putting the final touches on the sheet music he had been writing, a burst of inspiration early that morning leaving him unable to sleep any longer, when he heard his stepmother call him. “Jisung!”

Jisung sighed, opening the door to his bedroom, “Yes?”

“Make sure breakfast is ready!” She ordered, striding past him and up the stairs, “And bring it all to Seulgi’s room. Jaesung and I will be there too. I need to wake my children up.”   
  


Jisung didn’t question it, just walking towards the kitchen and making breakfast on autopilot. He had learned what they wanted long ago and his step-siblings were creatures of habit, rarely ever choosing something else.

Two trays were balanced precariously in his hands as he walked up the stairs, focused on making sure nothing fell. It was futile when he heard the tail end of his step-mother’s words.

“For that singer.” Jisung stopped in his tracks. Singer? Could she be talking about him?

“The one with that guitar last night. You saw him, right?”

Jaesung nodded, “No one could recognise him, so he must have been a new performer or something.”

His step-mother grumbled, “Or something is right. Apparently the Prince fell in love with him. He’s been looking for that singer all night.”   
  


Seulgi, finally awake enough to sit up, fell back down, groaning, “But what’s the point? Everyone knows the singer was a guy.”

“Exactly.” A smirk formed on Jaesung’s face.

『••✎••』

Seungmin was getting desperate, so desperate. It had been over six hours of going from house to house, the guitar in his hand was getting heavier. Minho and Felix stood on either side of him as he watched with anticipation at the man in front of him. He had a similar build to the singer from the previous night, at least to Seungmin’s memory. He couldn’t help but be slightly hopeful that this person may be the one.

Those hopes were immediately crushed when he heard the first strum of the guitar, the vibrations falling flat. Each strum that followed sounded the same, almost painful in the otherwise silent room.

“I’m sorry,” the man apologised, holding the guitar out awkwardly.

Seungmin sighed, pasting on a smile that he hoped didn’t look as much like a grimace as it felt, “You don’t need to apologise. It’s not your fault.”

“Thank you for your time, Heesung-ssi.” Felix repeated. It was probably the hundredth time he had said it, having gotten the same result from each house the trio had visited previously, “We’ll get going now.”

Minho took the guitar and handed it to Seungmin silently, following the other two out of the house.

“One more house left,” Seungmin said, trying not to let the defeat in his voice show.

“Come on.” Felix consoled, “This might be the one.”

Seungmin doubted it. Groaning, he traipsed up the steps towards the main door of the house. Felix lifted his arm to ring the doorbell but didn’t get the chance to, the door flying open immediately after Seungmin reached the door.

“Good afternoon, Prince Seungmin.” The woman called out, “What might bring you to our humble abode?” Seungmin resisted the urge to snort. The house, though it would be more accurate to call it a mansion, was everything but humble, and the woman in front of him seemed to fit right in.

“Does anyone in your household play guitar?”

“Why, yes.” She replied, “My son is extremely enthusiastic about his music.”

She led them into the main room, a large open space with several doors and a staircase to one side. In the middle, a set of sofas and chairs were laid out. Seungmin zeroed in on the two people already sitting on the sofas. In particular, at the man. Black hair, styled behind his ears, black hoodie and jeans and a guitar in his lap, pick held between his right finger and thumb. At seeing the prince, both of them stood up, bowing.

“Han Jaesung, pleased to meet you, your highness.”

“Likewise.” Seungmin replied curtly.

Without needing any direction, Minho handed the guitar from the singer last night to Jaesung, who discarded his own guitar in favour of the other one, pulling the strap over his head confidently.

And Seungmin would like to say he tried. Despite the exhaustion and low spirits, he was fully attentive, listening carefully for each strum, anticipating the moment Jaesung would begin to sing.

Seungmin would like to say he tried. He listened for a couple of minutes. It sounded similar, very close to the first song the singer had played last night. But something was missing. It seemed dull, not like Jaesung didn’t know what he was doing, but like he didn’t truly care. He raised his hand, signalling for Jaesung to stop.

“Is this the only son you have?” He questioned, still clinging on to the hope because this was the last house and he didn’t want to give this up. He had only been with the singer for a couple of hours but, in that time, had learned so much about him, had seen all the quirks and habits. The way the singer’s eyes lit up when he was talking about music, the way he scrunched his nose or fiddled with his earrings absentmindedly. It had only taken hours for the singer to leave Seungmin completely whipped and Seungmin refused to give up while he still could.

“I assure you, your highness,” The woman said, “This is my only son.”

Seungmin sighed, “Well, thank you for your time, Jaesung-ssi." He ignored their pleas to give Jaesung another chance, "We'll be going n-"

“Can I try?"

Seungmin, already half way through the door, swivelled around, scanning the room till his eyes caught on another person in the room, a person who hadn't been there before. Felix glanced towards him, silently asking him what to do. At Seungmin's nod, the guard strided past everyone else, meeting the other person half way across the room.

"Try your best." Seungmin said, resigned. "We'll see how it goes."


	4. Chapter 4

“Exactly.” A smirk formed on Jaesung’s lips.

Jisung finally registered the conversation happening in Seulgi’s room, putting two and two together. The trays in his hands crashed to the ground and the rest of the occupants of the room turned to the sound immediately.

“Don’t just stand there!” His step-mother shouted, “Clean that up!” As Jisung ran to get a dustpan, she poked her head out of the door, adding on, “And bring one of your guitars!”

Guitars? No one else but Jisung knew how to play the guitar in his family beyond the basics; they’d never bothered to learn. Jisung frowned as he detoured to his room, grabbing one of his older ones. It was a cheap model, one his father had bought him when he was still learning but Jisung didn’t have the heart to throw it out. The bright red had faded into a duller shade. It looked closer to brown, but it didn’t matter. He highly doubted his step-mother would care, and he didn’t want to risk something happening to one of the more expensive, more professional guitars. He needed those for actually performing, whereas this one was kept more because of the sentimental value.

Once the guitar was secured in his right hand and the dustpan and brush in his left, he slipped back inside the room, crouching to pick up the bigger shards of broken glass. Thank God the tray was made of metal instead. If he had chosen the glass tray, it would have just led to him having to clean up more and he wasn’t in the mood to, distracted as he was.

The prince was in love with him? With the singer, Han Jisung? But what did he have that was so attractive?

“And if the Prince doesn’t even know who he’s looking for…” Jaesung’s eyes lit up in understanding and Jisung whipped his head up. No. They couldn’t. They wouldn’t. Would they?

“You still have a chance.” They would.

“You can’t!” Jisung protested, not even feeling the cuts from the glass digging into palms, “That wouldn’t be right to the singer!”

His step-mother laughed haughtily, “If the singer wasn’t able to prove himself then it’s fair game.” She turned to face Jaesung, “Now remember, dear, you have to…”

The words faded out, indiscernible past the static filling his thoughts because-because why did this hurt so much? It was like a knife stabbing at his heart, a searing pain that encompassed his whole body.

“I won’t let you.”

The static disappeared, the rumbles of chatter stopped.

Silence.

“What did you say to me?” Her voice was ice cold, each word threatening, making Jisung want to curl up into a ball and hide under his bed. But he couldn’t do that anymore, not when something like this was on the line.

And maybe there was a bigger, slightly more selfish reason. The realisation had dawned on him in the split second it took for his head to clear. If the prince found him, and if he truly was so enamoured, Jisung had a chance to get away from this house, get away from his poor excuse of a family. Without his father, there was nothing in his house that mattered as much, except perhaps his music. But he could easily take that with him. He could take it with him away from the house, away from his step-mother, who hardly treated him better than a slave.

Jisung gulped, cleared his throat, “I  _ said _ that I won’t let you. I won’t let you steal someone else’s work for your own gain. I won’t let you treat that singer how you’ve treated me ever since Appa died.” He clenched his fists, “I won’t let you deceive Prince Seungmin like that.”

“And who are you to stop me?”

“I-”

But she didn’t let him get another word in, “Seulgi!”

“Yes, Eomma?”

“Get the keys from my room.” She turned to fix a glare at Jisung, “This one isn’t leaving his room until the Prince has gone.” Jisung wasn’t able to protest anymore, roughly dragged back to his room by Jaesung.

A sob escaped his pursed lips as he fell to the floor, back against the door. “What am I supposed to do now?” He whispered to the silent room. Jaesung’s footsteps had faded after the distinct click of the lock sounded.

And that was that.

Jisung was stuck, trapped in his room while his step-mother and step-siblings did who-knows-what.

“The key!” He shot up.

“Of course. How could I have forgotten?”

Really, how could he have? It was one of the first things he did after Appa’s death. Truth was, he never trusted his step-mother. Even while Appa had been alive, there was something about her that Jisung hated. That feeling only amplified once she forced him into the attic room, saying something about needing the extra space. Why she needed his room specifically when they lived in a practical mansion, Jisung hadn’t understood. What he did do, though, was keep a spare key in his room. He didn’t know if it would help at the time, but he had no place else to put it, and he wouldn’t dare give it to his step-mother again.

With renewed vigour, Jisung wiped at the tears staining his cheeks, willing the redness to lessen as he rummaged through his chest of drawers. It was somewhere here. He knew he had hidden it well, always paranoid that his step-mother would find it, but she hadn’t. She rarely found use in coming to his room.

Letting out a victorious cheer, he grasped the key in his hand, untying the white cloth it was wrapped in and running back to the door. Holding his breath, he pushed the key through the hole and twisted.

It turned.

Breathless laughter, trembling hands, he put the key into his back pocket and made his way down the stairs just in time to see Prince Seungmin’s back leaving the door.

“Can I try?” He didn’t have to think, the words leaving his mouth automatically. It was a good thing too, because Jisung’s mind was a mess, scrambling to hold him together. It was as if he had taken the back seat, barely able to understand what was happening and how he was supposed to respond to it.

For once, he let go of his carefully crafted plans and let his heart take the reigns.

"Try your best." The prince replied, "We'll see how it goes.”

He looked exhausted, no doubt disappointed at failing in his search. How could he have succeeded when Jisung was stuck in the furthest corner from the castle, unaware and then locked away?

Confidently, he sauntered over to the guard, taking  _ his _ guitar gently. He pulled the strap over his head, shifting it till it was comfortable over his shoulder. He sighed contentedly at the familiar weight. This guitar, an ombre going from orange to red, was his favourite guitar, one he had used most often. It was the first guitar he bought when he turned eighteen and had enough money to buy more than the necessities. It was the guitar he had used last night and then so foolishly (but maybe not, considering it had led to this) left at the palace. Once his fingers were placed on the strings, he zoned out completely. Muscle memory did the work for him, the hours and hours he spent practicing previously finally coming to use as he strummed the familiar tune, counting in the beats before opening his mouth and letting the lyrics flow.

When he finished, the last strum ringing out in the room, he opened his eyes slowly. Prince Seungmin was looking directly at him, the same awed look on his face as last night. A triumphant smile made its way onto Jisung’s face. He could tell even without the prince stating it, that Seungmin knew he had found his singer.

“So,” he began, “how do you think it went, your highness? Did I prove myself?”

The prince opened his mouth, already walking towards Jisung when another voice broke through, “Ridiculous.” His step-mother opposed, “That’s ridiculous. How can you know he was even the singer?” She crossed her arms over her chest, “I know for a fact that Jisung wasn’t at the ball last night, so he couldn’t have been the singer.”

“Besides,” Seulgi added and Jisung glowered at her, the disdainful tone in her voice only serving to infuriate him. “How can you be sure that was him? He could just be talented at singing and playing the guitar.” She smirked, “District Nine is known for its music, after all.”

Jisung saw the frown forming on Seungmin’s lips, the corners of his mouth turning down as he pursed his lips.

“Actually,” he cut in, “I have a way to  _ prove _ this guitar is mine.”

“Go on.” Seungmin said, intrigued.

“There is one thing I can guarantee no other man in this district pointed out before blindly playing whatever they could.” He lifted the guitar up, removing the strap so he could turn the instrument over. “One thing that only the owner of this guitar knows is the location of the signature.”

He held the guitar up closer to the prince, pointing towards the upper corner where, in white, the Hangul for his name was painted on. It was clear, a stark contrast against the black base. The syllables Han Ji Sung stood out for everyone to see and no one, not even his step-mother could refute it.

“Han Ji Sung.” The prince repeated slowly, savouring each syllable. “So that’s your name.”

Jisung smiled, “Nice to officially meet you, your highness.”

“Oh, please. After all I’ve done to find you, I’d be offended if you didn’t call me Seungmin.”

The laughter bubbling inside him spilled out, loud and unexpected. His voice was still slightly shaky and he could feel the after-effects of the crying settling in. Jaesung and Seulgi were still protesting (although it was futile) but none of that mattered as Jisung’s eyes met Seungmin’s.

“Nice to meet you, Seungmin. I’m Han Jisung.”


End file.
